A Heart of Gold
by AReallyBadWriter
Summary: The only perfect people are those who embrace their imperfections. While it may seem a little naive, a sixteen-year-old boy with mental issues decides to leave education, etiquette and even his family behind in search of adventures new. Rated M for seriously fridge-ing bad language, and possibly fudge-ing sourness in the future.


_The sound of the never-ending ticks of the clock ring in my ears, a constant reminder of my entrapment in this place. While it's necessary for a proper education as to how to deal with certain types of Pokémon, school isn't exactly enjoyable for somebody like me. And, when I say 'someone like me', I mean somebody that does not have any friends._

 _Not for a lack of trying, mind you. I've had plenty of goes trying to make friends, but alas, twas not to be. This could be explained away by a number of reasons. One, you could believe that, just because I was born into a billionaire family, that I'm a self-righteous prick with no understanding of social etiquette – which isn't strictly true. Two, you could just say that I'm a nerd with no friends – which is slightly more true. Finally, you could make the assumption that I have mental disorders slowing me down. And, if you take it with a grain of salt, you'd be right._

 _You see, I've been diagnosed with autism since I was two years old, and it's a real struggle for me to talk to anyone without making a fool of myself. However, ever since I laid my steel-blue eyes on my father's Golduck, I knew that my passion was for the world of Pokémon itself. It's absolutely astounding that there are more than seven hundred different types of Pokémon out there, all with different abilities, mindsets and personalities. I can almost remember the story my mother told me about how her Alakazam would do her homework whenever she was going out for the night, which was not very often, since she was always up to her neck in detentions. Which, since she was only 5'2, was quite a big deal for her – My father, in comparison, is 5'11. Which reminds me – I forgot to introduce myself._

 _My name is Nicholas Ristarek, (I'd rather you call me André. I don't know why, I guess it sounds cooler – just roll with it) and I'm 6'2 with a stocky build._ _ **And, yes. Before you ask, I do even lift.**_ _At this point, I'd like to say that I'm a straight-A student with a harem of banging-hot girlfriends whom are obliged 24/7 to engage in sexual relations without any form of recompense whatsoever, but that'd be a bit overstated. While the former is true, the latter is much out of my comfort zone (As I've mentioned earlier, I don't have friends). I mean, I've paid attention in sex education, but I just feel that I don't really want to go there until I'm one hundred percent sure that there will not be any negative repercussions as the result of such activities._

 _Anyway, back to the story._

 _It is 3:20 (five minutes from the end bell) and the teacher is still talking and talking about the different scenarios Pokémon Trainers could face when out in the wild, and how to protect yourself if the need arises. Since I've already written down the notes in my book, I decided that now would be a great time to flick to the back of the book and start doodling nonsensically without any care in the world._

"Psst!"

 _A voice originating from my right catches my attention. It's my intergration aide – she helps me with my stress levels and other miscellaneous things._

"What are you drawing, André?"

 _I'm not exactly renowned for my artistic skills, but I always love to practise as it might come handy someday._

"I'm not sure…" I respond. "I think I might draw a Lucario."

 _Opening my pencil box, I blindly took out some colours and slowly start drawing, making sure I get it right, and colour within the lines. However, other students weren't so supportive when they saw I was drawing in PokéWild class._

"Eww!"

 _Well, that's one student who doesn't seem to like my drawings. It's James, my local bully. And, as you can plainly read, he isn't exactly the greatest in the way of linguistics._

"It's completely the wrong colour!" he shouts. "Lucario ain't that colour, faggot!"

 _I stare at my work. Despite being a bit of a douche, he was sort of right. Instead of the black-and-blue colour scheme that everyone is used to, I accidentally used black and yellow. However, I was dumbfounded at why they would actually even give a flying fuck as to what I was even doing. I'm at the back of the class, and they decide to swivel their bowl-haircut egghead around like a fucking Noctowl and tell me that I'm doing my drawing wrong. It's MY drawing! I can do it how I like._

"It's 'aren't', James." I retort. "I think you might be relying on Google Translate a bit too much after you came off the boat."

 _The class gasps, shocked that I had finally snapped. Just as the teacher is about to interrupt, the bell finally chimes, signalling that the week was over, and that I could finally relax in the safety and security of my house, without fuckwits like James interrupting me._

"Alright, class!" the teacher shouts, trying to speak over the loud ringing of the school bell. "Chapters 8, 9 and 10 are due on Tuesday, so get that done ASAP!"

 _To be honest, I'd been preparing that comeback for years. I knew he wasn't the best in English class, so I tried to exploit that weakness of his for a good effect. Whether that worked on not, only time will tell._

 _As I exited the school gate, my father arrived in his platinum-white Audi S7. This was strange, as my mother always picks me up. After I placed my duffel bag in the boot and entered the car, he greeted me the only way he knew._

"How ye' doing, son?" he asked in his signature accent, not too dissimilar to Brian Johnson from AC/DC.

 _I didn't know what to say. Do I tell him about what happened in PokéWild class? Or do I just lie through my teeth in order to have him hear what he wants, and hopefully spare him the stress of getting into a fisticuffs fight with James' dad, which is most likely bound to happen anyway since my dad basically has a lie detector built into his face?_

"It was fine, Dad." I said, sulkily.

 _He frowned, stroking his beard. I had absolutely no idea what he would say next. Would he punish me for getting into a fight? Or would he be the usual dad, praising me for standing up like 'a real man'?_

"I know what'd cheer you up, Nick." He says, smiling.

' _A present, perhaps?' I thought. When we finally arrived home, I stepped out, following my father to the backyard. He stood on a makeshift pedestal and spoke in a posh voice, most likely to accentuate something important._

"Now…" he says. "I want you to meet someone."

He motions for my mother to come outside with a small box in tow. I didn't know if it was just my senses fucking with me, but I swear I saw (and heard) the box rattle.

"Andre." my father shouts. "Happy birthday, my son!"

The box breaks open from the inside, and a Pokémon shoots upwards. It was so fast, I couldn't even figure out what it was. All I saw was a golden speck in the sky, looking at me. I could feel it reaching into my body, almost as if it was staring into my soul…


End file.
